Badges
by Acacia Carter
Summary: It is the beginning of seventh year, and Neville has had just about enough of Amycus Carrow.


The late September storm raged outside, dashing itself against the windows of the castle as though intent to breach the walls. The thunder rolled through the stone corridors like an ever-ringing gong. In the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, the windowpanes shook with it, and the line of first years against the wall shifted uneasily. Neville did not know why there was a line of first years against the wall, but he did not have a good feeling about it.

The office door slammed against the wall as Amycus Carrow burst into the room. In a properly dramatic world, lightning would have flickered as Carrow took his place in front of the seventh years, but the world did not work like it did in stories. There was no such omen, just a gust of wind that drummed the rain against the windowpanes slightly more violently.

"You'll be helping these jelly-kneed twits serve their detentions today," Carrow said with no preamble, jabbing his wand at the motionless line of first years. A horrible smirk twisted his lips. "You lot are lucky. You learnt this spell from one of our own, in this very room."

He pointed at one of the first years, a brown-haired girl whose pale face lost what colour it had when she saw he was focused on her. Carrow crooked a finger and she stepped forward like a sleepwalker. "Your name?" Carrow asked in a sickly-sweet voice.

"R - Ramona Stevens," the girl said, faltering.

"And Ramona, why are you here?" The unconcealed malice in the honeyed tones made the hairs on the back of Neville's neck stand on end.

"I..." Ramona continued, but it was too quiet for the class to hear.

"Louder!" Carrow's demand was punctuated by a slap across the first year's face. Neville was certain that he was not the only one to flinch, or clench his hands into fists, but any intervention and Carrow would see that they'd all get worse. Neville had seen the bruises on the other students.

"I didn't turn in my Muggle Studies essay!" Ramona sobbed, lifting her hand to her cheek.

Carrow nodded as though she'd said something gratifying before turning and gesturing to the class. "Who wants her?"

Lightning flickered. Neville could feel the corresponding thunder echo through his ribs.

"Fine then. You." Carrow pointed directly at Neville and beckoned him forward. Neville shifted his feet and lowered his eyes to the flagstones of the floor. "Longbottom!" Carrow barked. "Now!"

It was not a Summoning charm; it was as though an inexorable hand was pressing against his back, forcing him forwards. Neville stumbled, barely catching himself before he stood a few scant inches from Carrow, whose lips twisted into that horrid smirk again as he placed an arm around Neville's shoulders to turn him toward Ramona. Everything in Neville screamed silently to cringe away from that touch.

"The incantation," Carrow said in a whisper that still managed to carry over the sound of the pounding rain, "is _Crucio_." Neville stiffened and Carrow let out a low chuckle. "Yeah, you know that one, do you? Thought you might." He stepped back and made a grand gesture. "Go on then. Or are you too spineless to manage it?"

Ramona had dropped to her knees on the stone floor, her terrified sobs more like gasps as they made her shoulders quake. Neville heard something low and rumbling in his ears and thought it was thunder before he realised it was the thudding of his heart, blood rushing through his body in a torrent like nothing he'd ever felt. His hands were shaking - not with fear, but with something solid that made him square his shoulders, lift his chin and look Carrow dead in the eye.

"No."

He could hear the stifled gasps of his fellow students behind him, but he didn't tear his eyes away from Carrow's face. There was a distant peal of thunder that rolled across the grounds like heavy smoke.

"What did you say, boy?" Carrow spat, stepping closer until their chests were nearly touching. Neville was startled to find he stood with his eyes at least an inch higher than the Death Eater's.

"I said no. I won't."

"You know what I could do to you?" Carrow's voice was low and drawling, pitched for Neville's ears only.

Neville resisted the urge to swallow. "Pretty sure I know, yeah."

"I'm generous. You have one more chance." Carrow took a step back, his eyes burning with contempt.

"The answer's still -"

Neville did not even have time to finish the declaration before Carrow had jabbed his wand in Neville's direction, crying "_Crucio!_" over the dull roar of the pouring rain.

Neville's bones dissolved into fire that lanced through his muscles, seemingly cramping and stretching them simultaneously -

He was on the floor somehow, hardly feeling his cheek pressed against the ragged cold stone -

He did not have the air in him to breathe, let alone scream or yell -

Curling into a ball did nothing, arching his back did nothing -

It was gone.

Muscles twitching of their own accord, Neville rolled onto his back, eyes closed, breathing hard. His throat felt raw. Apparently he had managed to find his voice. The high ringing in his ears subsided slowly during the space between heartbeats and a dry, disconnected corner of his mind realised that everything had happened over the space of perhaps ten seconds.

Dimly, he could hear Carrow hissing at the rest of the students. "...what you get. Does anybody else care to be foolish? Does anybody else want to make a stupid, worthless gesture?"

No one said a word. Neville was having trouble focusing his eyes, but it looked as though the entire class was studying their shoes intently.

"No one? Good. You lot might not be as idiotic as I thought. You, then. Front. Now."

"No."

Heads whipped around as Neville pushed himself up to rest on his elbows; they dug into the flagstones and that hurt, but really, what was a little more pain? "I'm not done yet."

"Neville, don't," someone whispered savagely. Neville couldn't place who it was.

"'Neville, don't'," Carrow mocked in a tremulous falsetto. He took three steps to stand over Neville, one leg to either side of him, wand pointing at Neville's forehead. "Did you not get a good enough taste the first time?"

It was a pose meant to intimidate, but it was really a very bad pose to be in. Using his elbows as leverage, Neville launched himself up and forward, tucking his chin and bracing himself for the impact of his skull against Carrow's hip bones as his forehead made forceful contact with the Death Eater's groin.

The effect was much as he'd expected. Carrow doubled over, face crumpled, screaming obscenities in a hoarse whisper that the astonished murmur of the gathered students couldn't drown out. Dizzied at the sudden movement, Neville leaned back on one hand, blinking hard, numbly trying to process whether what he'd just done had been brave and defiant or very, very stupid.

There was sudden movement in the corner of his eye and Neville glanced over to see Carrow raising his wand again. He had just enough time for his stomach to lurch in fear before Carrow's papery, hate-filled whisper of "_Crucio_."

Carrow had been holding back the first time. If that had been pain before, then this was some living thing, crawling through Neville's veins and leaving destruction in its wake. This was not searing heat or cold, it was not anything that could be articulated - it hurt to move and it was unbearable to stay still, and even the detached corner of his mind that usually observed lucidly could do nothing but wordlessly beg for it to stop.

It did not.

Lifetimes went by. Some primal, animal part of him knew, without a doubt, that this was the end of him, just like it had been the end of his parents. This was how they'd been broken, subjected to countless seconds and years of this agony -

Like a pricked soap bubble, the pain vanished, and Neville could feel... nothing. Not the chill of the flagstones, not the twitching of his muscles, not the throbbing in his chest as he sucked down gasps of air. He felt as though he was encased in a thick wax that kept him from moving or even acknowledging that his body existed.

Carrow was standing over him again, no longer doubled over. Neville blinked blearily. He could not hear what the Death Eater was saying, and through the fog in his mind noted with disinterest as Carrow drew back his foot. When the foot shot forward in a blur of motion, the impact knocked Neville's head back and he could feel his skull bounce against the floor, but there was no other sensation. It was as though his body had stopped feeling anything at all out of self-defence.

An interminable span later, punctuated by glimpses of the castle corridors through one eye, Neville blinked and realised he was sitting in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room. He had been wrapped in a blanket, and someone was holding a cold compress to his eye. The chill of it permeated into his bones and he shivered, drawing the blanket closer.

"What...?" he tried. The word felt thick. Chewy. He swallowed and licked his lips, but there was no moisture. Immediately a hand was holding a glass of water to his mouth and he drank gratefully. "Did he get anyone else?"

"No," a female voice said shakily. It sounded like Lavender, but the voice was thick with tears and it was difficult to tell. "He dismissed class after he kicked you."

"We snuck you some dinner," Seamus said, appearing at the edge of Neville's vision. "We'd have taken you to the hospital wing, but we didn't think we could get you that far. We all had to take it in turns to carry you most of the way here."

Neville nodded, shaking the blanket free from one of his hands to take a drumstick from the plate Seamus was offering. He brought it to his lips before realising that he was not the least bit hungry, and he put it back down.

"You can't do that again, Neville." It was Parvati this time, lightly touching his shoulder as though afraid it would pain him. "He'll kill you as soon as look at you."

"He won't," said the person holding the cold compress, and Neville recognised Ginny's voice. "They've got orders not to kill students."

"Doesn't matter," Neville said, reaching up to take hold of the compress himself. "I'm a dead man anyway. We all are." This statement was met with stunned silence, and Neville looked around at the stares. "What, you think You-Know-Who's just going to let us all stay alive if we don't join him? Or were you planning on joining up when it's all over?"

There was no answer to his demand, but the faces surrounding him had turned thoughtful. Neville twisted around to look at Ginny. "Harry's out there fighting. He's not running away, he's not hiding, he's fighting. I know he is." Ginny gave a tiny nod of confirmation. "If he fails, we're all living on borrowed time. But he won't. And in the meantime... we can fight back. And when Harry comes back, when he figures out a way to win - we'll have set the stage for him."

Seamus gave an incredulous snort. "You sound like him."

A very tiny flame of pride kindled deep in Neville's chest. "Thanks."

"It wasn't a compliment," Seamus said bluntly.

"I know. But I'll take it as one anyway. If there's anyone we should be trying to sound like right now, it's Harry." He took the cold compress away and patted at his eye gingerly. Even with his fingers still tingling, he could feel the swelling, could feel the abrasions Carrow's boot had made as it cut into his cheekbone.

"I can try to fix it," Ginny offered, drawing her wand.

"No." Neville waved her off. "I earned this."

"You did no such thing -" Parvati began hotly, but Neville interrupted her.

"Earned it, not deserved it. I stood up to him, and I got my very own badge for it. You bet I'm going to show it off. If I have get beaten black and blue before the school year's over, I will." He turned to Ginny again, who looked to be in a state somewhere between astonishment and intrigue. "Get the word out to all the old crowd. I want everyone to know that Dumbledore's Army is going to fight. Even if it's just me."


End file.
